"Let's play truth or dare."
"Where are going with this, Ryu-kun?"
"Yagami-kun, you first."
"Truth," Light grumbled, still suspicious.
"What would you do….if I was Kira?"
Light froze.
"Don't be ridiculous. You're L! You're trying to hunt Kira down!"
"But what if it was all to cover up the fact that it was me?"
"I….you wouldn't do that, L."
"And what if I did?"
"You wouldn't tell me!"
"And what if I did?"
Light was cornered. He started breathing hard, his heartbeat quickening as he looked for a way out.
"What if I was responsible for so many deaths?"
"I would….uh…."
"Just tell me the truth. This is truth or dare, you know."
"That's….that question is a little too serious for a game."
"Okay. Then I'll give you a dare."
"A-alright," Light said half-heartedly.
"I dare you to kill me with nothing more than a piece of paper."
Light stared hollowly at L, whose head was cocked to the side. Light searched for any hint of humor in his friend's eyes, but sensed this was far from being a joke. The dark circles under his eyes made it just that much harder to look away, that much harder to lie. Light concentrated on acting innocent, but the sheer interest, the seriousness, the honesty in L's eyes made it next to impossible.
"I can't do that. You know that, L."
"You want to answer that truth then?"
"If you were Kira…." Light looked at the ceiling, wishing he could avoid this but knowing it was impossible. "If you were Kira, I would kill you."
"Why?"
"Because you took so many lives, played so many mind games, hurt so many people. At first you would've been doing something good, something justiced, something that I meant to be right. But as you got closer and closer to finding me, I started killing people who didn't deserve to die, like the police force and—" Light froze. L's eyebrows were knitted together in confusion as he debated how to take this. Light was only just realizing what he was saying, how a simple game of truth or dare was enough to uncover his identity.
"Light Yagami-kun is Kira," L mumbled quietly, holding Light's wrist with one hand and tracing the lines of his palm with the other hand's fingertips. "My first friend is my worst enemy."
"And my first enemy is my best friend."
"Maybe this was destiny," L suggested.
"Maybe I was meant to die."
"Maybe you were meant to kill."
"Maybe I was meant to die for killing."
Light looked at the floor, wishing this day had never happened.
"Light-kun, you're the first person I ever really trusted."
"You're the last."
"Yes, Light. Yes, I will be the last one you ever trust."
"Does this mean you're going to have me killed?"
"Of course not. I will not kill my only friend."
Light looked away quickly, not wanting L to see how often he had considered killing his friends, his lovers, even his own family.
"I found you, Kira."
"L."
"And now I really know you, Light-kun."
"I hate everything about you."
"I love everything about you."
"I love your determination."
"I hate your bloodthirst."
"I hate that seriousness." Which was a lie.
"I love your intelligence." Light stopped. For a while there, he had thought L imagined him as being childish, simple, boring. This changed a lot.
"I love how childish you are," Light replied.
"I love that about you."
They sat side-by-side as the room drained of light with a power outage, and as the two boys sat in the dark there was no sound but the soft clap of their hands meeting, fingertips entwining, breath hushed, hearts thumping, as they remained in silence and in darkness for hell knows how long. But somehow it was perfect. Simple. Loving and hating, living and dying, breathing and choking, kissing and killing. The swish of a pen could be the slashing of a knife. The flipping of a page could be a scream ripping the air. People had to die now and then. Kira, of all people, should know that. And if one or both of them collapsed in that darkness, it would be understood. Lovers, especially, have to die.
Love is the slowest form of suicide.
Put a gun in his hands and you can never tell what he'll do with it. He might shoot himself, he might shoot his lover. He might point at random and fire off a round. He might look down at the barrel and remember what it's like to taste murder. Blood. Empathy. Hate, fury, passion. A flurry of limbs and lips in the dark, whether that is kissing or killing. To touch is to destroy.
Love is the most painful way to go.
But does that stop us? No.
Maybe you know him, maybe you don't. Maybe you'll love him, maybe you won't. But love or lust, pull or thrust, the tug of his eyes will probably draw you in. If you can escape, maybe you'll live, and maybe not. It's hard to say. It's hard not to break down and give in. It's hard to miss him, and it's hard not to. By the time you stop to think about it, he might be holding a gun to your head or pressing the handle into your palm. Whoever fires the first shot is in control. But no matter who pulls the trigger first, everyone has to go.
Love means when you kill him, you're dragging yourself down with him.
Love means a definite ticket to hell.
You better enjoy every second of being alive, because being dead will be torture and punishment for sinning and singing, kissing and killing, teaching and touching.
Light put his head on L's shoulder and suddenly, their lips met. Hell knows what started it, but loving and hating, there was no way they could love without pain or feel pain without love. A vicious circle, yes, but worth every drop of sweat, blood and tears. The two boys in the black room were isolated and so perfectly, perfectly alone.
xxchuuxx